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Dean sat in the bunker, sipping on a glass of whisky. From his worn leather recliner, he had a direct line of sight to the front door. His green eyes flicked over to the wall-mounted clock. Three past 11 pm. He had called and texted Castiel, but his husband had yet to respond.
It was peaceful in a way, having spent years slowly making the bunker feel more like a home rather than just a place to rest. Dean actually had fun making the place his own, from the Blu-ray DVD collection of Dr. Sexy M.D, courtesy of Sam for Dean's 43rd birthday two years ago, and Dean won't admit out loud that he may have had a few marathons. The plush Peruvian rugs that litter all the floors were Castiel's idea. Dean thinks they look a little granny-ish, but it makes his angel happy, and that was good enough for Dean.
He took a deep breath; the smell of the apple pie he had baked earlier was still lingering in the air. His eyes fluttered shut as a calm wave washed over him. He thinks about Sam and Eileen, the two who are now living together after they found out Eileen was pregnant. It was a cute little cottage on the outskirts of town. Sam took a good number of books and folders with him when he moved out of the bunker.
Dean was suddenly yanked out of his musings when he heard the telltale squeak of the bunker door, the old metal bolts groaning as Castiel entered the bunker, a weirdly suspicious lump in his coat. “Angel?” Dean called out, setting his whiskey glass down on the wooden side table, adding to the growing collection of condensation rings on its surface. His joints creak and ache, more so due to the storm rolling into town in the next few hours.
“Cas, what do you have in your pocket?” Dean asked gruffly, knowing the puppy eyes his husband is throwing at him only meant that Castiel did something that Dean may disapprove of. “You said that you were going out to pick up that new thing you bought.” Dean stood up from his chair with a groan and a wince before straightening up to his full height and placing his hands on his hips.
“Alright, spill it, Angel, what's in the pocket?” Castiel shifts his weight under his husband's intense glare. Well, I- um..” Castiel mumbles, trying to think of a way to break it to Dean without him getting too mad. “Well, first off, there was a thunderstorm rolling in, and it was too tiny to be alone.” He pauses, trying to read Dean's feelings. “But, I didn't see any parents or kin, so I brought it with me.” Castiel’s blue eyes flicked up to Dean's green ones before giving a defeated sigh and deciding to rip the bandage off. He unwrapped his trench coat, revealing the small form of a dark grey kitten that honestly looked closer to a ball of lint than a kitten.
“Cas!” Dean growled, “Wait! Before you say anything,” Castiel interrupted. “I know that you are going to argue that it is too much responsibility, and we don't know the first thing about having a pet. However, look at this face.” He held out the kitten towards his husband, the little fluff ball looking up at Dean with blue eyes that were so similar to Castiel's own.
Dean sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Angel, I know you want to do good. And yes, the furball is cute, but what about when we go on a hunt? What do we do then?” He countered his husband's argument. “We take it with us,” Castiel replied, if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Take it with us?” Dean mumbles, absolutely flabbergasted. “Cas, this isn't a toy. It's a living, breathing creature.” Castiel interrupted again. “But Dean, what if we have Sam and Eileen cat sit for us?” He argued, pulling the little fur ball to his chest. “And for the record, it's a little girl.”
Dean shakes his head, knowing his husband is stubborn to a fault and won't budge. “You already called Sam, didn't you?” Dean accused, looking more exasperated than angry when Castiel just gave him a shit eating grin. “Fine! We can keep the fur ball.” Dean agrees, reaching out to stroke the soft fur. “Do you even have a name picked out yet?” Castiel nods, holding her up like Rafiki does to Simba in The Lion King. “I have named her Catstiel!” He declared, grinding wider when he heard Dean's groan of reluctant amusement. “Really? That's the name you're going with?”
Dean shuffles back over to his chair, sinking with a soft oof. Castiel followed, plopping himself right on Dean's lap. “You know you love it.” Castiel purrs teasingly. “I wouldn't say I love it, but if it makes you happy.” Dean reached over, picked up his glass of whisky, which had the ice cubes half-melted, and tossed it back in one gulp. “Come on, Angel, I'm tired, and we agreed to help Sam and Eileen with the remodel in the morning.” He placed one arm under Castiel's legs and another behind his back before standing up with his husband in his arms, who was still snuggling their new kitten. Dean only shook his head and planted a kiss on Castiel's temple before carrying him off to bed.